


Reunion

by RosesHaveThorns



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alcohol, Bath Sex, Bathing/Washing, Cunnilingus, Drinking, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Food, Foot Massage, Love, Married Characters, Oral Sex, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 16:35:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5382341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosesHaveThorns/pseuds/RosesHaveThorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Alistair and his Warden-Commander Queen are reunited after spending several months apart while she dealt with the disturbance in Amaranthine.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> When I finished Awakening, I was really kind of... exhausted. My Warden-Commander was very much in love with Alistair and they'd only just gotten married and there she was there stuck in the Howe's very old keep with moody Howe and drunken (but funny) dwarf and an incredibly bitchy elf and a walking corpse and a perky dwarf chick who insisted she was already dead and a neurotic-as-hell mage and... ugh. She missed Alistair. I missed him. If nothing else, he was good for a snog between battles to relieve the stress of constantly killing things... 
> 
> Anyway, I just thought, "What sort of welcome would I want when I finally got myself back to him?" So that's what this little vignette is. 
> 
> I haven't written smut for other people to read in a long time. I had fun with this. (I even managed to work in a Monty Python reference!)

Alistair tried to focus on the incredibly boring discussion about trade routes, but he was finding it difficult. He had been growing into his still-new role as king, but this was just... well... incredibly boring. He picked up one of the maps from the table and pretended to study it, though he was mostly looking at the little drawings of sea monsters and the frilly script that designated the oceans and seas. The compass rose was also strikingly ornate, with all manner of detail. Seemed a bit excessive, really, all that attention put into a drawing of a device to tell you which way was north, but there it was.

The chamber was elegantly appointed, but utilitarian. There were several bookshelves and, of course, the great table, which was beautifully made with different kinds of woods, all inlaid and polished. The chairs were basic, though his had red velvet padding on the seat and the back, because he was a king, and apparently, kings needed to put their arses on velvet. It always struck him as absurd, given that he had grown up in the Chantry with the most frugal of appointments, and then spent so many months sitting on the hard ground and relieving himself in the woods, and sleeping in a tent in all kinds of weather.

And the thought of tents brought his wife to mind yet again. Everything reminded him of her, but the thought of her and tents didn't just remind him, it triggered yet another wave of deep longing and the reminder of certain physical needs that only she could fulfill.

“...do you think, Your Majesty?”

Alistair snapped out of his daydreaming and looked at the speaker, the very capable and somewhat stern Bann Desmonda of... somewhere.... in the Bannorn....? He couldn't remember, and didn't much care. This trade thing was clearly important to her, though, and so he nodded thoughtfully and stroked his not-quite-a-beard.

“Well,” he began, as if he knew exactly what he was going to say, “I think this seems --”

The door opened somewhat forcefully, interrupting the conversation, and Elspeth strode into the room. He had to stop and check if he was actually dreaming. Had he drifted off during the meeting?

“Good day to you, gentlemen, my lords, lady,” she said as she surveyed the group. “I hope I'm not interrupting anything important?”

Alistair decided he didn't care if he was dreaming, he was going to just go with it, and he was out of his chair in a flash, some of the papers fluttering to the ground in his wake. He should show some decorum, he knew. He should restrain himself and be kingly and courtly and all that, but he was going to kiss his wife, by the Maker, and decorum be damned. He took her face in his hands and pulled her close as he lowered his face to hers, pressing his lips eagerly to her mouth. He had intended to keep the kiss chaste, given the company, but somehow the kiss turned rather more passionate, lips seeking, parted, tongues mingling, tasting, stroking, probing hungrily. One of her hands had moved to the back of his neck, her other arm wrapped around his waist, and they clung to each other right there in front of everyone, lost in the pleasure of one another.

He was vaguely aware of some throat-clearing and the shuffling of papers, but paid it no attention. When he finally opened his eyes and ventured a look around, everyone had gone.

Elspeth laughed. “Well, that's one way to adjourn a meeting, I suppose. I think they were afraid you were going to have me right here on the table.”

“I could do that,” he offered, taking her hand from his waist and guiding it to the bulge in his trousers. She made a little throaty noise of appreciation and stroked him through the soft cloth, kissing him again, and he groaned softly against her mouth as pleasure shot through him. Alistair looked at the table and then back at her, and then decided against it. “Another time, perhaps,” he said, “when you're not buckled into armour.”

“Mmmm,” she agreed. “Perhaps the next time you want to get out of a boring meeting, hmm? I can turn up in skirts and hop onto the table with a come-hither look and run them all off for you.”

He laughed out loud even as his chest constricted and his heart skipped a beat. “Maker's breath, Elspeth, I've missed you,” he sighed. “If I had known you were on your way home, I would have arranged a proper welcome reception, with a feast and everything! How were things left in Amaranthine? I got your letters, of course, but I imagine there are details you didn't –“

“Later,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I've missed you, too, my love. I didn't send word before I arrived because once I had matters sorted at the Keep, I left everything in the hands of the caretakers and came home as quickly as I could. A messenger wouldn't have arrived much before I did, so I thought I'd just surprise you.”

“And so you have, my love. A most welcome and pleasant surprise, and you got me out of an incredibly boring meeting, as well.”

“Mmm, yes,” she said with a smirk, rubbing her hand over his groin again, “I can certainly tell you're happy to see me.”

“Oh, fine, mock me, temptress,” he muttered, kissing her on the forehead. and she laughed again. He loved her laughter, he loved making her laugh, and he'd missed hearing it in the months she'd been away on Grey Warden business, “playing arlessa” as she had written disdainfully in one of her letters.

“Don't worry, my love, I'll sort you out once I've had a meal and a bath,” she said with a wink and a meaningful look at his groin. He responded only with a sound in his throat that was a cross between a groan and a hum as she took his hand and led him into the hallway.

Outside their chambers, which opened into a foyer where the royal guards were on duty, Alistair paused to have a word with them.

“The Queen has just returned from her long absence, and we are not to be disturbed except in dire emergency,” Alistair said firmly.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the guard replied smartly. “The Queen has already given us that directive.”

Alistair glanced at his wife with a smile. Of course she would have done, just as she'd already ordered food and a bath.

Elspeth opened the door to their suite and stepped inside and Alistair nodded to the guards and followed her in. She shut the door behind him firmly and with a loud thump. The message to the guards was clear: this was the start of “not to be disturbed unless Thedas is on fire and Darkspawn are simultaneously throwing a fancy dress ball in Denerim's high market” time.

“Here, my love, help me out of this armour,” she said.

Alistair happily complied, pulling at the buckles and straps of her leathers with practiced ease. She could get out of her own armour, sure, but he liked to undress her, and she seemed to enjoy it when he did. He was mindful enough to put the pieces on the nearby armour stand, in between caressing and kissing her as he undressed her. By the time her underclothes were on the floor, she was pulling at his cream and gold embroidered tunic, her hands caressing his chest and back, and then she moved on to his belt. She laughed when she tugged down his trousers and his underpants in one movement and his erection sprang out like a jack-in-the-box. As she knelt to pull his shoes off his feet, she paused to plant a kiss on the tip of his cock, sending a flood of pleasure through him.

“Oh, Maker's breath, Elspeth, don't tease me,” he pleaded. “I don't have enough discipline for that, not right now.”

Alistair had learned that sex, at least for him, involved a certain amount of discipline, not that unlike the discipline of a warrior over his blade, and the discipline of a templar over his mind. To be an effective lover, he had to have some discipline over his... arousal. The more he practiced that, the more he found he enjoyed the challenge of it, and keeping his desire at bay prolonged the release, so when he finally did get it, it was so much more powerful.

Today, however, after months away from this woman who was the center of his world and the object of his absolute adoration and desire, Alistair was finding self-control quite the challenge. She probably wouldn't object if he picked her up and tossed her on the bed and took her in a moment of unbridled lust. They'd certainly done that before, but he just felt that after a separation like this, it should be a little special, a little... more disciplined.

“Sorry, my love,” she said as she moved toward the bath. “You'll have to wait until I've rid myself of the grime of travel and battle and the stench of Darkspawn. And then... well, that soup on the table smells awfully nice, and I am hungry....”

He was about to point out how many times they'd made love on the road together, both of them sweaty, grimy, sometimes bloodied and bruised, in the woods, in her tent or his, on a unwashed bedroll, occasionally on the ground or up against a tree, but she seemed so genuinely weary that he decided not to bring it up. She needed special attention, and she wanted a bath, and he was just the man to see that she got it.

Alistair had finished stripping his own clothes off as she made her way to the tub, his eyes following her swaying hips and the curve of her lower back and her shapely, firm behind, especially when she climbed in and turned to sit down. Oh, Maker. Discipline...

“I was going to get in with you,” he said, “but I think it would overflow. And I had a bath just last night, anyway. But do let me assist, my love.”

Alistair grabbed a comb from the nearby dresser and sat down on a stool by the tub, slowly and carefully working the tangles from her rather thick, shoulder-length, dark hair. He loved to comb her hair, entwine his fingers through it, feel it brush against his face or his body when they made love, or even just when they slept curled up to each other.

“Your touch is always surprisingly gentle, especially for a warrior,” she commented as he worked the tangles out of her hair.

He smiled. “I do my best.”

When he set the comb aside, he reached for the imported Antivan soap he knew she loved. It was made with some sort of vegetable oil instead of tallow, and it was silky smooth and much more gentle than anything made in Ferelden. He worked up a lather and gently but firmly started to massage her scalp as he washed her hair.

“Ohh, yessss, that's wonderful,” she sighed. “Your attentions are most appreciated.”

“Are they? Just how much?”

“As much as you like.”

“That might be quite a lot.”

“Indeed? Well, I have some stamina potions in my pack if we need them...”

He chuckled and reached for the small jug on the side of the tub, and instructed her to duck down so he could rinse her hair, which he did by pouring water over her while he worked his fingers through her hair very gently. When he was finished that that, he set the jug aside again, soaped up his hands, and started on her shoulders and back, drawing a symphony of moans and sighs from her as he worked the tired muscles.

He made no pretense about it when he slid his soapy hands over her breasts. She groaned and leaned into his hands, pressing her breasts into them, and if his cock got any harder, he'd be able to use it to demolish Dwarven stonework.

Her nipples were hard and jutting out enticingly, begging to be tweaked, and that's just what he did, making her whimper delightfully. He'd love to get one of those nipples in his mouth, but as they were covered in soap and it would be incredibly awkward from his perch outside the tub, it would have to wait.

He did take his attention from her lovely breasts long enough wash her arms, and underneath them. After all, she actually wanted to be clean, and he knew far too well how sweaty it could get inside armour.

After rinsing the soap off of her upper body with the bathing jug, and after a little more fondling for good measure, Alistair shifted his position to the other end of the tub and he picked up one of her feet and carefully washed it, massaging as he went, pressing gently but firmly between her toes and along the sensitive arch and the tendons in her sole, while she sighed with deep appreciation as he worked. Some time after his coronation, she had complained about her feet after having to stand around for hours at some official function in dress shoes, and he had offered to rub her feet for her. He hadn't known how sensuous the act was, nor how much she would enjoy and appreciate it. And had he any idea at all that it was quite likely to lead to sex, he would have taken up rubbing her feet years ago.

Her feet cleaned and massaged to his satisfaction, he ran a soapy hand up one leg and then the other, and then settled his hand between her thighs, slipping two fingers inside her while he worked his thumb on that most sensitive pearl of flesh between her legs. She responded by spreading her legs wider to give him better access, and it wasn't long before her hips were working, thrusting against his hand, her sounds of pleasure echoing through the chamber. She sighed his name and told him she loved him, and mentioned the Maker once or twice as the tension in her built until she cried out, her body convulsing, squeezing his fingers.

“Oh, yes,” he murmured, his voice husky with his own arousal, “there you go, my love. That better for now?”

She looked at him, her eyes dark with desire, lips parted, her breath ragged...

“Right. Bath's over,” he announced. He stood up and grabbed one of the towels the servants had so thoughtfully provided, and he turned to see her staring at him as if he was a feast and she was starving. He posed for her, shifting his weight to one leg and turning his shoulders, his cock standing at attention has it had been for far too long now. She grinned and he winked at her, and held up the towel for her to step into. He wrapped the cloth and his arms around her, rubbing her skin through the fabric. He pulled her close, kissing her face and her neck, his hard cock pressed against her, separated from her skin by the towel.

“I love you,” he said between kisses.

“Show me.”

Towel forgotten on the floor, they made their way to the bed with eager anticipation, hands caressing, lips searching. She lay sideways across the bed and gestured for him to join her, but he had other ideas and shook his head.

“Come here,” he said. Before she could move, he caught her and wrapped his arms around her hips, pulling her to the edge of the bed, one leg over each of his shoulders. He knelt and kissed her between the legs once before tasting her with his tongue. Her cry of delight was music to his ears as he pressed his mouth to her, using his lips, his tongue, even his teeth to pleasure her. The smell of her arousal was intoxicating, the unique taste of her, the sensation of her soft, wet, hot flesh on his mouth was like nothing else. Her pleasure and arousal pleased and aroused him.

How long he stayed there, between her legs, adoring her in the most intimate way he could imagine, he didn't know, and didn't care. He slipped a finger inside her as he worked with his mouth and he didn't bother to count how many orgasms he gave her. He just kept going until she was whimpering and begging him for his cock. He gave her one final kiss and wiped his face with the back of his hand, and then stood up and looked at her in all her naked glory.

“Maker's breath, but you are beautiful,” he sighed. “Now, how do you want this?” He grinned at her, cock in hand, and she scooted herself back on the bed, arms and legs open to him. “Got it,” he said as he climbed onto the bed between her thighs. He thrust himself into his wife with a deep, gutteral growl, while at the same time a wail of pleasure escaped her lips. She could be so noisy. He loved that about her. He loved that he was the man making her cry out like that.

Alistair rocked his hips, thrusting hard, but with a slow, steady pace, trying to maintain some discipline, but he'd had this erection for an almost unbearably long time and he knew he wasn't going to hold out long against the sensual onslaught. Thankfully, it wasn't long before he felt her tighten around him, squeezing his cock hard as she cried out his name, and that pulled him right over the edge. He managed to grunt, “I love you,” and he was lost to his own very powerful climax.

When he was spent he pushed himself off of her, because she'd made it very clear to him early on that it was ungentlemanly to collapse on top of a lady. Also that breathing was quite important for a woman, and it could be quite difficult with a grown man flopped out on her torso, apparently. Naturally, he wanted to be a gentleman, especially for such a beautiful lady as his wife.

That still made him feel happy to think of it. He loved to call her his wife, loved that she was really his, and he was hers, in a very real and legally binding way, blessed by the Chantry and by common law, as well. He pulled her close to him, caressing her gently and planting tiny kisses anywhere he could reach with his mouth.

“Maker knows I've missed you,” he said quietly. “I didn't realise how much until you were with me again. You're not leaving any time soon, are you?”

“Oh, Alistair, I've missed you, too, my love," she sighed. "And unless there's some genuine Grey Warden emergency that demands the direct attention of the Warden-Commander, no, I'm not leaving without you again if I can possibly avoid it. I have plenty to discuss with you about my recent trip, but right now, I'm still hungry, and I just want to eat before it's completely stone cold. At least it's under a cover, so it might still be passably warm, but if you've ruined my meal with your sexual demands, you'll be in for it, king or not.”

Alistair laughed out loud and turned on his side to watch her make her way to the table, once more admiring the sway of her hips. “Oooh, you're so bossy,” he said affectionately.

“Oh, good, it's still warm,” she said, taking the cover off the Orlesian-style onion soup. “You're safe. For now." She dipped into the soup with all the gusto of a Grey Warden, as Alistair joined her at the table. There was a bowl of soup for him, as well, and while he hadn't thought he was especially hungry, the smell of the food and seeing her eat roused his appetite. There was also an assortment of cheeses (the kitchen staff knew him well, apparently), bread, some fruit, cakes, two bottles of wine, and two smaller bottles that he guessed were Bannorn ciders. For food and drink, they were all set for quite a while. Good. He had no intention of leaving their suite for at least a night and a day, and then they'd just have to assess the situation. Advisers and meetings be damned, this was more important.

Alistair sighed happily as he ate, unable to tear his eyes away from his beloved, the woman he adored so completely, and to whom he owed so much. It was going to be a long night, and it wasn't even dark yet. Good thing Elspeth had those stamina potions.

“I am a lucky man,” he said with a smile.


End file.
